The Red Star of Bethlehem
by AdamantMackay
Summary: After Chuck left his four growing boys alone to fend for themselves, Michael had to take on the burden of sole supporter for his family. The easiest way to do that was to turn to prostitution for a local club, which eventually became a private business. Michael has had his fair share of clients, but none are quite like Crowley, who seems to have taken a particular liking to him.
1. Chapter 1

**Red Light AU**

"Goodnight, Gabriel," Michael said softly, pulling away from the kiss he had bestowed on his brother's forehead. "Sleep well." He addressed both Gabriel and Raphael as he said this, gently closing the door to the room they both shared. Sighing, Michael made his way to the living room where Lucifer lay across the lumpy old couch, trying to watch _Happy Days_ on a tiny screen that was fuzzy with static.

"Yo, Mike," Lucifer called without looking up. "You wanna bring me back a tin of peanuts or something?"

Michael smiled sadly; when Lucifer had asked a few years ago exactly what he was doing to keep their family afloat, he had replied that he was a bartender at a club in the North end. At the time, he _had_ been working at a club, but serving something much different than drinks. He had only been nineteen then, so he was surprised that his normally shrewd brother had not seen through the lie. "You know I can't," he replied.

"Yeah, well—" Lucifer shrugged. "Worth a shot. I still think you should get me a job."

"I think not," said Michael sternly. "Someone has to watch over the children." Besides, there was no way he would let Lucifer anywhere near his line of work.

"Raphael is almost fifteen," said Lucifer. "You left me alone with them when I was fifteen. And Raph's way more responsible than me."

"Gabriel still needs you," Michael said calmly.

"But I'm saying Raph can look after Gabe," Lucifer argued.

"If you want a job, go get one yourself," Michael retorted, knowing full well that Lucifer had no motivation to do so.

"Sure thing," said Lucifer, which was what he said every time.

Michael grabbed his phone off the charger: it was an old flip phone, and had only become his personal phone when he had left the club to go private. A second, slightly newer phone served as the landline; both were on pay-as-you-go. "You know how to reach me," he told Lucifer.

"Yeah, except you never answer," Lucifer snorted, and Michael cringed at the accusation in his voice; his brother really had no idea.

"I do my best," he replied quietly. "Goodnight, Lucifer."

"G'night, Mikey."

Once the door had clicked shut behind him, Michael stood on the porch and took a deep breath to compose himself. He checked the address he had received earlier that day: apparently the ad he had snuck online through the library computer was working.

The house was all the way across town—nearly in the suburbs. Michael had to walk for twenty minutes after catching the bus as far as it could go. He did not need to check the number again, as it was plainly obvious which building was his destination.

While most of the houses on the street were of the cookie-cutter variety, quaint little things with minivan-filled driveways, there was one residence that must have been there before the neighbourhood itself. A soft yellow glow came from behind the windows, which peered out of the dark-bricked walls. A wrought-iron fence surrounded the property, spiked gate open in admittance to those brave enough to enter. The house boasted three storeys, and carved wooden pillars supported the balcony over the porch.

Michael approached with some apprehension, glancing nervously at the statues and plants that flanked the gravel path. An old-fashioned knocker was fixed to the oaken door and Michael made use of it, hearing the ensuing _boom_ echo through the whole house. He swallowed thickly and took a step back, almost hoping his client would not answer.

He was disappointed a few moments later when he was doused in light from the silently opening door. His client was a well-dressed man with dark hair and a few days' worth of beard, holding a glass of dark alcohol in one hand while the other rested on the doorknob.

"Well hullo there," the man greeted in a rough British accent. "Find the place okay?"

"Y-yessir," Michael stammered. He had had his share of both attractive clients and repulsive ones, but this man was on a whole different spectrum. The rasp of his voice seemed to augment his rugged handsomeness, putting him in a category of his own.

"Save the 'sir' for later," said the man with a light laugh. "Just call me Crowley for now. Please, come in." He stepped aside to allow Michael room to pass and closed the door behind him.

Now that he had stepped into the light, Michael could feel himself being scrutinized. He maintained eye contact, no longer intimidated by this sort of examination after many years.

"It's fitting that you're named after an angel," Crowley remarked casually, then pausing to take a drink. "You're even prettier than your pictures."

"Thank you, sir."

"Crowley."

"Crowley," Michael amended. "Sorry."

"Don't be," said Crowley. "Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you," Michael replied politely. Despite the fact that he was paid by the hour and accepting would have made him more money, he needed to remain sober so he could get home safely afterwards.

"Suit yourself," said Crowley with a shrug. He put his now empty glass down on his counter and started down the hallway. "Follow me, then."

Michael had to bite back another 'yessir' and padded quietly after the man. No matter how many times he did this, he still got a nervous roiling in his gut in anticipation.

"How old are you?" Crowley asked, leading Michael to the end of the hall and unlocking a set of double doors with a heavy brass key.

"Twenty-two, s—Crowley." Michael stopped in the doorway. Crowley's bedroom contained more luxury than he ever had or probably ever would see in his life. Tall lamps inlaid with gold stood in the two far corners, and a dark-wooded bed dominated the wall between them. A Persian rug probably worth more than Michael's house engulfed most of the floor, and a doorway on one wall led to an en suite bathroom. A closed closet door stood beside that, and an enormous wardrobe took up most of the opposite wall.

"Like what you see?" Crowley chuckled. He took his shoes off and placed them by the door, then gestured for Michael to do the same.

"It's very lovely," Michael complimented, trying to stay impassive. He did not want to sound too desperate, lest the other man pity him. "You must have had a successful career."

" _Have had?_ " Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Just how old do you think I am?"

Not wanting to offend him, Michael quickly answered, "I don't know."

"I turned thirty last week," Crowley told him, making his way over to the bed. He lay in the centre of it, half-sitting propped up against two layers of pillows. He crossed his legs at the ankles and looked at Michael, who had remained in the middle of the rug.

"I'm sorry."

"You're awfully contrite for a whore," Crowley commented. In earlier years, the statement might have brought a blush to Michael's cheeks, but he had endured far worse since then. He remained silent, his green gaze locked on Crowley's face.

"Well, go on then," Crowley said decisively, gesturing at Michael. "Let's have a look at you."

Michael nodded, relieved that the awkward conversation was over. It was always then that he was most ashamed. He pulled off his sweater with hardly a thought and tossed it to the floor at his feet, hands coming up in the same motion to grab the back of his t-shirt.

"Oi!" Crowley said, stopping Michael cold. "Come on then, this is an art, not a duty."

It was comments like that that struck Michael to the very core of his being. He let his hands fall to his sides. "It is my duty to please you," he said simply, not telling him just how much duty fuelled his work.

"Well," said Crowley, "it would please me if you awarded your body the respect it deserves, instead of regarding it as a tool. As I said, it's an art. Now, make it a show."

Michael was too surprised to reply, but his body moved on instinct. He deftly undid his belt and rolled his hips once in the empty air to allow his shirt to ride up, giving Crowley the briefest glimpse of the V his hipbones formed. The other man appeared satisfied at this and settled back into the pillows, watching with a slight smirk.

Crossing his arms over his hips, Michael gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it off over his head, flicking it off his right hand while his left pushed one side of his waistband an inch or two down his hip. This was all one fluid movement that caused his shoulder and chest muscles to ripple: when he was not working, Michael found the time to work out, making use of the crossbars on the fire escape across the alley from his house; being well-toned meant he got more clients. He glanced up at Crowley, whose lips had parted slightly, and let a smirk that did not reach his eyes quirk up one side of his mouth. "Better?"

"Much," said Crowley hoarsely, devouring Michael's body with his eyes. His pupils dilated further as Michael undid his jeans, baring the roots of dark hair just above his low-riding briefs.

After allowing only that teasing look, Michael turned his back to Crowley to slide his jeans down his legs, rolling his hips again so his ass stuck out slightly. He hooked a thumb in the waistband of his briefs and pulled them halfway down one hip as he slowly turned back.

"Wait," said Crowley, beckoning with a hand. "Come here."

Michael removed his hand, allowing his waistband to return to its natural position, and sauntered over to the bed. He removed his socks on the way there.

Crowley shifted to uncross his legs and patted his lap, barely having time to move his hand out of the way before Michael had swung a leg over his to straddle him. The younger man rolled his hips down once, grinding against the bulge he felt rapidly growing, and ran his hands down Crowley's chest, then back up his shoulders to push his suit jacket off his shoulders. After impatiently tossing the garment aside, Crowley reached a hand up to grab the back of Michael's neck and to bring him forward to kiss, the other squeezing his thigh and stroking the inner flesh with his thumb.

Crowley's lips tasted like whatever he had been drinking, but his tongue beneath that was tinged with a heady sweetness that sent Michael reeling. He kissed back fluidly, rubbing his palms in slow circles over the chest of the man beneath him. He always performed better when he found the client mutually attractive, as was the case here. He registered Crowley's hand flow from his neck down his side to rest on his hip and could not help but moan quietly.

"You make the most beautiful noises," Crowley murmured, pulling away from Michael's lips to nip at his neck, which had always been sensitive. The added scratch of scruff on his skin only heightened the pleasure and he moaned again, low in the back of his throat this time. He felt Crowley's cock twitch, even through the layers of clothes, and shivered at the hot breath of the reciprocating groan on his neck. With shaking hands, Michael undid Crowley's tie and slipped it off his neck, the fabric slithering with a whisper against the bed sheets. He took in a sharp breath as Crowley sucked at the skin beneath his ear.

Michael bit his lip and ground his hips down again, trying to achieve some friction on his strained erection. Keeping his movements as gentle as he could, he un-tucked Crowley's shirt and undid the buttons one at a time, letting his hands spread the parted material afterwards. His hands were warm and soft, and he had long mastered ghosting his fingers over _just_ the right places to evoke a reaction; his efforts were rewarded with a shudder and a shaky exhale.

Both of Crowley's hands descended to rest on Michael's ass, where he applied firm pressure. Michael's own hands had trailed down and he toyed idly with Crowley's belt, undoing it painfully slowly. He turned his head to capture Crowley's lips in another kiss, dragging his tongue along the other's bottom lip. He soon found Crowley's tongue pressed up against his and both of their moans sent vibrations through him.

Once Michael had undone his trousers, Crowley took his hips and eased him off of his lap, sitting up to reach into the bedside table. The small packet he procured, he pressed into Michael's hand as he pushed his trousers past his knees and then kicked them off. He knelt on the mattress and reached down into his pants to palm himself, nodding at the condom in Michael's hand.

"You're gonna put that on me," he said. "With your mouth."

"Yessir," Michael replied, heeding Crowley's earlier warning about saving the 'sir' for later. He tore open the package as Crowley pulled his cock out, but stopped short with a ragged gasp; he had to be ten inches, at least. Shaking his head to regain his composure, Michael rested his weight on his forearms and knees in front of Crowley, looking up into his eyes with an expression he had been told was 'innocently sinful.'

"You look lovely, darling," Crowley crooned, his eyes glittering with excitement. One hand quickly dropped his pants to around his knees while the other stroked back through Michael's hair possessively. Michael, for his part, shifted his weight to his elbows as he reached up to wrap his hand around the base of the other's cock. He held it still as he placed the condom on the head and rolled it down enough so it would stay in place when he replaced his fingers with his lips. He let his tongue slide along the underside of Crowley's length, further unfurling the rubber along it.

Crowley let out a long moan and his hand clenched in Michael's hair. He leaned forward to impatiently push Michael's briefs off his ass so he could admire the view.

Not even fazed by the cool air, Michael finished rolling the condom on with his hand, not trusting in his ability to take in Crowley's full length. Crowley did not seem to mind, however, only tugging at Michael's hair to punctuate his raspy, "Ass up." Michael complied immediately as he began stroking the lower half of Crowley's cock while his mouth worked the upper half.

Crowley's free hand clamped onto Michael's shoulder and he thrust into his mouth, wanting to feel the soft warmth of the other's tongue on as much of his length as possible. It was only thanks to Michael's years of experience that he managed to close his throat before the tip hit the back of it, but he still gave a slight grunt. Crowley seemed to acknowledge this by not pressing any farther, actually thrusting a little shallower as he moved just to get friction. The consideration was unnecessary, but it was highly appreciated on Michael's part. He focused on swirling his tongue around Crowley's girth and keeping his hand pumping evenly, settling into a haze of routine that was only broken by the other man's voice above him.

"Get up," Crowley ordered through clenched teeth, releasing his hold on Michael's hair and pushing him back. Michael settled back on his haunches, but Crowley dragged him forward and up to kiss him again. Unable to stand the pressure any longer, Michael slipped his briefs the rest of the way down. He sighed into Crowley's mouth as his aching cock was finally released, the end of the exhale turning into a whimper. Crowley's hands trailed down to Michael's ass once more: he teased one finger up the entire length of his entrance while his other hand delivered a sharp slap to his lower cheek.

Michael let out a cry of surprise, but immediately went back in for the kiss. It seemed Crowley had other ideas, however; he gave Michael's ass a lighter slap and then pulled away from him, resuming his semi-horizontal position from before. He curled his fingers inwards in a beckoning gesture after removing his socks and smirked when Michael straddled his lower stomach. The sting from the slap was already fading, and he ground his ass down as Crowley's hands roamed up his thighs, thumbs pressing into the hollow between them and his hips. Michael rested his hands on Crowley's chest and tried to subtly lean forward so his cock rubbed against the other's stomach.

Crowley knew exactly what Michael was trying to do, and he chuckled in sympathy. "No one's paying any attention to you, hm?" he soothed in sickly sweet tones. Michael bit his lip in embarrassment, which only made Crowley laugh as he closed one hand over each of their cocks and rubbed at the tips with his thumbs.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Michael became aware that he was being paid to pleasure this man, not the other way around, and certainly not to have his client do it himself. He pushed Crowley's hand away from his cock, though he let be the hand that was working his own. As if to make up for his lapse in performance, Michael lifted himself up and positioned himself over the other's tip. Though the pre-lubed rubber helped to ease the strain, Michael still cried out as he was fully penetrated un-stretched.

In the throes of sudden pleasure, Crowley lost his grip on Michael's cock and pressed his head back into the pillows, arching his hips up. A single shout of "Fuck!" pierced the air, and Crowley's hands clamped onto Michael's hips, his nails digging into the flesh.

After the initial shock of both Crowley's size and suddenness had subsided, Michael was able to ride with a smooth ease that would leave no doubt as to his profession in anyone's mind. He let out little wanton cries as he slammed down against Crowley's skin over and over again. Crowley matched his movements, arching up at the same time Michael pressed down. His breathing was ragged and he was whispering a string of obscenities under his breath.

Michael's head was swimming. By the time he reached this part most days, he had already zoned out, counting down until when it was over; but Crowley's body seemed to move so in time with his that Michael nearly forgot he was working, actually enjoying himself for the first time in months despite the ache growing in his lower back. He could tell he was going to hurt in the morning.

"I…I'm close," Crowley panted, his fingertips still pressed firmly into Michael's hips. "Make it good for me, love."

Michael clenched around Crowley's length, though he was nowhere near release himself: he did not even climax most nights, but it was his job to guide the other through his orgasm.

Crowley lasted longer than he expected, though the tight pressure of Michael's hole was sending a sensory overload through his body. He scratched down Michael's sides, albeit lightly enough to leave only faint pink marks, and let out a cry of pleasure as he released. Michael rode him through his climax and only slowed when Crowley let out a sated sigh, eyes fluttering open to look up at Michael breathlessly. "Wow…" he breathed, but Michael did not take the compliment to heart; enough people had told him he was good at what he did. Crowley slowly relaxed his grip on Michael, letting his hands fall back to the other's hips.

Swallowing thickly and composing himself with a few deep breaths, Michael concentrated on allowing his erection to subside, though he was unsuccessful in escaping Crowley's notice.

"Need some help with that?" the older man quipped, now able to speak in full sentences.

Michael shook his head. "I need to get home." Again, staying would have made him more money, but his brothers were his primary concern. "Besides, that is the opposite of my job."

"Nonsense," Crowley grunted, sitting up and easing Michael off his length. As he carefully rolled the condom off, he spoke casually: "I could get off on the noises you make."

"It is up to you," said Michael in resignation. He dangled his feet off the bed, but didn't get up in case Crowley still needed him.

"No, it isn't—" the _whump_ of the condom hitting the bottom of the garbage can. "It's your body."

"It's your money," Michael countered. "But, as you can see, I have handled it myself." Indeed, he had gotten rid of his erection completely.

Crowley shrugged one shoulder. "Fine."

Michael hopped off the bed and began to get dressed. He was tying one of his shoes when Crowley walked over to him, his pants hastily thrown back on. "Three hundred should suffice?"

"What?" Michael dropped the other shoe.

"Three hundred," Crowley repeated.

"I heard you." Michael's hourly rate was seventy-five, but they had not even been an hour. He imparted this information to Crowley; he was nothing if not honest.

"Maybe if you were an eighty-year-old broad with a mouth full of gums and cobwebs between her legs!" Crowley scoffed. "But that was a fuck fit for a king."

Michael was not going to argue. He took the stack of bills and pocketed them, then bent to put his other shoe. No more words were needed, in his opinion: he had done the job and he had gotten paid. He quietly began to walk out the still open door and back down the hallway.

"Michael," Crowley called after him, which made the younger man turn. His clients never used his name; he was never fully a person in their eyes.

"Thank you," said Crowley.

Michael shrugged. "It is just business. You got what you paid for." Without another word, he returned home. When he arrived, he was pleased to see that Lucifer had fallen asleep. Even though his brother would have hated it if he was awake, Michael kissed his temple softly and tucked the knitted blanket from the back of the couch around his shoulders. Smiling sadly down at Lucifer, Michael made his way to the bedroom they usually shared and lay down carefully on his stomach. It was best not to think too hard about nights like this one—though Michael was unsure as to whether he had really ever had a night like this one. His eyes drifted closed as he exhaled; he had not realized how tired he was until sleep had already claimed him.


	2. Chapter 2

Michael hated to admit it, but the extra pay he had gotten from Crowley really helped him. Not only had he replaced the worn-out socks and underwear for his brothers, he had gone and gotten himself tested. Most of his clients were considerate—or cautious—enough to use protection, especially if Michael specifically asked, but he could not afford to be picky if they refused.

The appointment was bad enough: Michael's cheeks burned as he was asked how many partners he had had. He watched the woman's expression switch between scorn and pity as she tried to read him. He wished people would just mind their own business. What was worse than the appointment, however, was the wait for the results. He continued working during that time, but he thankfully had no issues with clients. When the doctor's office called him three weeks later, he practically pounced on his phone and nearly sobbed with relief at the news. He had not known he was so worried about it until it was over, and he celebrated by buying a tub of ice cream for the four of them to share.

"What's the occasion?" Lucifer asked, though he was certainly not complaining.

"Just some extra tips," Michael lied. "And all of you have more than earned it."

"Thank you," said Raphael, for who manners were the one thing their father had drilled into his head before he left. Michael nodded at him and turned to regard their youngest brother. In all his eleven and a half years, Gabriel had never gone this long without talking. He was not even looking at his brothers as he shovelled ice cream into his mouth, half of it ending up all over his chin and cheeks in any case.

Michael laid a hand on Gabriel's arm. "You are going to make yourself sick!"

"So?" said Lucifer as Gabriel looked up at Michael in shocked sadness. "The kid might never be able to get sick off of ice cream again."

"Fine," Michael conceded. "But I am not cleaning it." He cleared his bowl, leaving the rest of the tub to his brothers; he did not have much of an appetite anyways. Even though he had been on the street the past two nights, he had gotten no clients, nor had anyone contacted him privately. Tonight did not look promising either: Michael had gotten no messages or calls. He checked his phone, preparing to be disappointed, but felt his stomach drop when he saw the text icon. He disappeared into the bathroom to check it and was immediately glad he had.

The number was not saved in his phone, but it did not have to be. Michael stared down at the words burning through his screen: 'Round two? –C'. Finding his mouth suddenly dry, his thumbs fumbled over the keys: 'What time?' He had barely completed the walk down the hall to his bedroom before he felt the next buzz. 'Is nine-thirty acceptable? –C'. Michael texted an affirmative and glanced at the clock. He had two hours, and it took him an hour to get there.

As he did every night, Michael got showered and ready in about half an hour. He told his brothers that he had been called into work early and left, even though he had a little more time to kill. He had learned his lesson about showing up early when he had accidentally interrupted a high-class dinner party. The man hosting had had to make up a clumsily executed lie as to who Michael was, and his pay had taken a significant blow. As such, Michael loitered around the variety store at the end of the bus route for twenty minutes or so, actually managing to make twenty dollars off of a pitifully short blow job. Before he left, Michael bought a pack of condom and a pack of gum, making use of the latter during the walk to eradicate the unpleasant taste the obviously drunk and bladder-deficient man had left on his lips.

A few more lights were on as Michael walked down Crowley's street due to the earliness of the hour. He tried his best to stay out of these, unsure of how much gossip the neighbourhood sported. The knocker was somehow less intimidating this time, as was Crowley when he opened the door.

"Come in." he said quietly, holding the door open as he had the time before. "Did you buy yourself something nice?"

"I bought myself a doctor's appointment," Michael mumbled, not really wanting to go into detail.

Crowley stopped abruptly and turned. "Are you alright?" he asked in genuine concern.

"Better than I thought I would be, actually," Michael replied, surprised at the older man's reaction. "Not disease-ridden anyways."

"You're not a dog," said Crowley in annoyance, again offering Michael a drink that he declined. "Stop talking about yourself like one."

"Am I on the clock?"

"Not yet, though technically that's up to you."

"Then I will not apologize for something for which I feel no remorse."

Crowley sighed. "You're a piece of work."

"Then work me," Michael retorted boldly.

"Not yet. Few things I wanna settle with you. First off—" He removed a folded piece of paper from his jacket and handed it to Michael, who skimmed it quickly. "I happen to be in the same boat you just boarded."

Michael nodded and handed the medical records back. "So I assume you're going to request bareback?"

"Depends. What goes?"

Sighing, Michael listed his stipulations. Usually, clients only asked for the list when they were going to try to convince him to do something he said he would not. "No scat, nothing that will result in serious injuries. Other than that, anything goes. Just do not ask me to call you 'Daddy.'" A despicable whale by the name of Zachariah had forever scarred him against that kink.

Crowley made a face. "I say it in jest, but I would never practice it."

Michael remained silent.

"Alright, so that's what you won't do," Crowley continued. "But what makes you uncomfortable?"

"What?"

"You know, you'll do it but you despise it."

Michael looked cautiously at him. "Why?"

"So I know what not to do to you, obviously." Crowley gave him an odd look as has said this, but Michael ignored it. He did not particularly want to answer the question, but he had a feeling he would not be left alone. "Cross-dressing, fisting, rape play, three-ways, and foot stuff."

"Those are all perfectly reasonable," Crowley agreed. "And last but not least…safeword?"

"Safeword?" Michael repeated in surprise. Crowley only looked at him expectantly. "Is 'stop' not enough?"

"If that's what you want it to be, then 'stop' it is," said Crowley nonchalantly.

Michael began to get an odd feeling in his gut. He had actually been very eager to have been hired by Crowley again, mainly because it had been handsome pay for a rather run-of-the-mill job. But now, when asked about a safeword, Michael began to think he had been mistaken. "Why? What did you have in mind?"

Crowley appeared offended. "And ruin the surprise?" he scoffed. "I think not."

"Oh," said Michael in a small voice.

"Come along," said the older man, heading down to the bedroom. After removing his shoes and socks, he left Michael on the rug as he made his way to the closet. "Hang on," he said, and then added casually: "I want you in your pants when I turn around."

The command took a moment to register, but Michael had plenty of time to comply, since Crowley had disappeared into the closet. Michael could hear some faint rustling.

"So I figured I'd make it up to you," Crowley's voice floated out of the closet, "for not getting you off last time."

"I told you, I do not—" Michael began.

"Hush." Crowley emerged from the closet with his hands behind his back, kicking the door shut behind him. "Down on all fours, since you seem to think yourself a dog."

Michael dropped. "That was not what I meant."

"Oh, wasn't it?" There was a warm hand on Michael's shoulder suddenly, and he felt something cool encircle his neck. It took him by surprise, so he let out a little gasp. The collar was a simple thing: black leather with silver studs and a ring on the front.

"Look at me," Crowley commanded, pressing a hand under Michael's chin to meet his eyes. "Yes, perfect." He straightened up, two fingers hooking into the ring at Michael's throat to drag him to his feet. "You," he said, "are exquisite." Moving suddenly, he pulled Michael forward to kiss him, then turned and pushed him forcefully onto the bed. "And you're _mine._ "

Michael barely felt the mattress hit his back before Crowley was on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head. He gasped again, mere moments before he felt the other man's lips on his. Crowley's tongue slid deftly into his mouth, and Michael was helpless but to part his lips for him. His head was spinning from the suddenness of it all, and a quiet moan left the back of his throat as Crowley palmed him through his briefs.

Crowley's hands left Michael's wrists to travel down his body, tracing light circles over his pecs. He nipped at the younger man's lower lip, tugging slightly. Michael's hands came down to Crowley's shoulders, but they had barely alighted there before Crowley pulled up, frowning down at him.

"That's not where I put them," he growled, and Michael immediately let go, blinking up at Crowley dazedly. The latter's hand disappeared into his jacket, and a flash of silver accompanied it when retracted. Michael's wrists were caught in Crowley's other hand once more, and a rattle and click sounded with the press of cold metal against them.

"Better," Crowley decided, and then bent down to kiss at Michael's collarbone, as well as the soft hollow beneath it. The area was just as sensitive as his neck, and Michael jerked as Crowley sucked at the skin. The chain running through the headboard pulled the handcuffs tight against his wrists and prevented him from grabbing onto the other man.

Crowley sat up again to remove his suit jacket and tie, tossing them off the bed. He undid the top button of his shirt as leaned down to leave a trail of kisses from Michael's shoulder down his chest. His tongue circled the other's nipple before his lips latched on around it, causing Michael to issue a high-pitched moan.

Michael was not entirely sure when his apprehension for the situation had dissipated, but it had long been replaced with pleasure. He pressed his chest up into Crowley's mouth, sliding his feet up the mattress so his knees were bent on either side of the older man's waist. One hand still gripped his wrists lightly, despite the handcuffs, and the other travelled down to run teasingly along his waistband.

"Crowley…" Michael groaned, dragging out the last syllable. The addressed looked up and smirked, tongue flicking out over his lips. "Touch me…" Michael breathed.

"You're going to have to beg for it," Crowley informed him, hooking a finger from both hands into the younger man's waistband and sliding them down agonizingly slowly.

Michael was most certainly not above begging. "Please," he whimpered. "Please touch me…" He let out a shaky breath as his cock was allowed to spring free. "Oh, God… _please_ , sir."

Crowley let out a chuckle, slipping Michael's briefs all the way off his legs and running his hands back up them. Michael shivered at the warm roughness that seemed to touch every nerve at once. Through half-closed eyelids, he spied Crowley smiling down at him approvingly, as if admiring a piece of art—or a particularly tender piece of meat. Michael twisted his hips to try to brush his cock against Crowley's hand, but that only prompted a reproachful noise from the other.

"You get what I give you," Crowley scolded him. His shirt joined the pile of clothes on the floor before he kicked off his belt, folding it in two. He pushed back on Michael's knees to bare the backs of his thighs before delivering a sharp strike. Michael cried out, pressing his head back. He could feel his cock pulsing, but could not reach down to relieve it. Crowley brought the leather against his flesh once more. "Are we clear?"

"Y-yessir." Michael nodded frantically, trying to look down his own body at Crowley's hands, and was only half-relieved when he heard the belt hit the floor a few seconds later. The sting had momentarily distracted him from the pressure in his groin, which seemed even more urgent now that the former was fading. "Please," he gasped again, and nearly sobbed gratefully as Crowley bowed his head. His relief was short-lived, however, as he felt a mark being sucked into his hip. His cock twitched as his feet fell weakly back to the bed. Crowley's hands were still on his knees and he pressed gently, spreading Michael's legs. His hands travelled down his thighs as he did this and he ran his thumb lightly over Michael's entrance.

Michael let out a breathy whimper. "No please, _please_ touch me." He would have been lying if he claimed he would not enjoy Crowley's fingers inside of him, but his cock ached for just one touch.

Crowley ignored the request, instead pressing two fingers to Michael's lips. "Get 'em wet," he ordered, and the younger man took his fingers in, sucking and licking at them.

"Good boy," Crowley praised, sliding his fingers from Michael's mouth and grinning impishly at the flushed expression he wore. He ran his fingers over Michael's entrance a few times before pushing the middle digit in.

A sharp moan burst from Michael and his wrists strained against the cuffs. He adjusted to the width of one finger quickly and only grunted when a second was added. Crowley's gruff voice pierced his consciousness.

"Hm, that just won't do at all, will it?" Michael whined as he was suddenly empty again and found himself disagreeing with Crowley's words. The hands travelled from his thighs to his ass, spreading his cheeks. He registered dimly the noises of the mattress creaking and a fly being undone before Crowley's lips were against his entrance. Michael cried out, curling his toes in the sheets.

Crowley issued a low moan and the vibration travelled all the way up Michael's body, only increasing the burning in his cock; he imagined the older man was stroking himself at the same time. Crowley's tongue slipped past the tight ring of muscles and he twisted it inside, effectively loosening Michael up.

Michael made a few strained noises pushing out another plea. After a mere few seconds—agonizing though they were—Crowley pulled up and _finally_ took Michael in hand. The younger man did let out a sob then, a shaky desperate thing. "Oh, Crowley… _oh!_ "  
Crowley wasted no time in beginning to stroke Michael, working himself at the same pce. Because he had so long been denied it, it did not take long for Michael to climax, coming apart with a cry when Crowley's thumb rubbed over his head, but the older man did not release his grip. Guiding Michael through his orgasm, Crowley reached into his trousers pocket to remove the key needed to unlock the handcuffs.

When Michael's thoughts surfaced again, he was aware of Crowley kicking off the rest of his clothes and felt a gentle slap on his side.

"Turn over, love," Crowley purred, and knelt as Michael shakily rolled over. Crowley adjusted the collar around hi neck so that the ring was at the back, then gave it a sharp tug to bring Michael up to his hands and knees. The fingers on his other hand toyed around Michael's entrance, ensuring he was still loose. Crowley knelt between Michael's calves and replaced his fingers with his cock, which provoked a whimper from Michael and a groan from himself. He anchored Michael's hips with one hand and pulled on the collar's ring with the fingers on his other.

Michael gave the smallest of coughs as the leather bit into his airway, and he kept his head up straight to relieve the pressure. He moaned as Crowley's cock rubbed against his prostate. The older man's hand tightened on his hip, and Michael knew bruises would accompany the hickey that was already there. He let out quiet cries as Crowley slammed into him repeatedly, but they were lost beneath the former's moans.

If Michael had had less self-control, he would have allowed himself to get hard again despite his recent climax: the pressure on his prostate was never released, as Crowley's size ensured he was pressed snugly against it even as he thrust.

Gradually over a matter of minutes, the hand on Michael's hip shifted up until it gripped his ribcage right below the arm. Crowley was bent over Michael at this point, though he still kept backwards pressure on the collar so Michael could not drop his head. His hot breath rushed over Michael's already flushed skin, and his hand travelled farther up his body to grip his shoulder from beneath. His fingers dug into the skin once more and he tugged on the collar sharply as he released, hissing in air.

With Crowley's seed filling him, Michael's moan was cut off by the closing of his throat and he choked. The pressure was relieved a few moments later; as soon as Crowley had worked through his climax and let go of him, Michael's shaky limbs gave out and he dropped to his stomach.

"Good boy," said Crowley almost absently, trying to catch his own breath. He sat laboriously against the pillows beside Michael, running a hand possessively through his hair.

Michael made no reply, but he turned his head to the side so he could breathe around the pillow. His body felt limp, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. He drifted off momentarily when Crowley got up, sleep clouding his brain against his will. He woke up to a cool wetness on his legs and was surprised to see a fully dressed Crowley gently cleaning him up.

"What are you doing?" Michael mumbled fuzzily, propping himself up on his elbows to look back at the other man.

"What's it look like?" came the reply. Crowley paused in his ministrations to take a small box from the nightstand drawer and place it by Michael's hand. "I have a proposition."

"Hm?" Michael acknowledged, inviting him to continue as he opened the box.

"I want you to wear that," said Crowley, "until you see me tomorrow night." He unfastened the collar from Michael's neck.

Michael frowned at the plug inside the box. "What happens if someone else wants to make use of me between then and now?" He closed his eyes tiredly as the cool cloth soothed his skin once more.

"You won't let them," said Crowley. "Because I'll pay you double for both nights."

"Have you nothing better to do with your money," Michael challenged, placing the box down by his hip, "than to waste it on prostitutes?"

"Just the one," Crowley replied smoothly. He gently eased Michael's thighs apart. "If it makes you feel better, you can pretend I'm paying you for twenty-four hours straight. Although," he added thoughtfully, "there are plenty of other ways you can work yourself."

"Fine," Michael agreed with a yawn. He had taken worse deals. "Does that mean you want the same time tomorrow?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Crowley confirmed. He slid the plug in, but Michael barely felt it. "I'm sorry I've ruined the prospect of the rest of your evening."

"S'alright," Michael heard himself mumbling. He was almost asleep again when a strong hand helped him stand up. He leaned against Crowley for a moment before he became aware of what he was doing, and shuffled over to get dressed.

"I suggest you get a good night's sleep," said Crowley, taking note of Michael's sluggishness.

"Probably," Michael muttered, heading for the door. Crowley's voice once again stopped him.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What, do you want a kiss goodbye?' Michael did not usually resort to sarcasm, but he just wanted to sleep.

"No," Crowley laughed. "But I'm certain you'd like to get paid."

"Oh." Michael blinked to wake himself up a little. "Right." Even half asleep, he could still count quickly the bills that were placed in his hand. "Seven hundred? But that would mean—"

"Three-fifty, doubled," said Crowley. "I think tonight was worth more than last time, don't you?"

"I guess that's up to you." Michael shrugged.

"You know you're supposed to set your own rates, right?"

"You have already exceeded them."

"No less than you deserved," said Crowley conversationally. "Would you like a ride home?"

Even though Michael was dead on his feet, the 'No thank you' had escaped his lips before he could stop it.

Crowley nodded. "See you tomorrow, then."

Michael fell asleep on the bus on the way home and nearly missed his stop. He ignored Lucifer's surprised questions as to why he was home so early and went straight to bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

"Psst, Mikey."

Gabriel had to repeat himself twice before his whisper finally pierced his brother's slumber. Michael blinked and groaned as he half-rolled onto his bruised hip. "Gabriel?" he mumbled. "What time is it?"

"It's ten!" Gabe told him, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Who's Anna and why does she want your butt?"

"What?" Michael must have misheard.

Gabriel giggled. "She's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

"What are you talking about?" Michael asked sternly, sitting up despite the ache.

"Look." Gabriel shoved Michael's phone at him, an opened text message filling the screen: 'Just got paid. Get your cute ass over here by midnight. Anna xox.'

Michael groaned. "Why would you look at my texts?"

"I know you gotta pay for every one," Gabe explained innocently. "So I figured it had to be important."

Michael quickly snapped his phone shut. "It's nothing."

"I'll ask Lucifer," Gabe threatened.

"You will _not_ ," Michael replied, sitting up to his full height. He only received a defiant look from his brother. "I'll buy you a king-sized candy bar to keep this a secret."

"Okay," said Gabe readily. "Who is she?"

"I'll but you two king-sized candy bars to keep this a secret _and_ ask no questions."

"Okay!"

Michael patted Gabriel's head and got up. "I have to do groceries today," he said, and changed out of last night's rumpled clothes. There was no hiding the chafing on his neck and wrists, not fully, but he hoodie would suffice to make it less noticeable. When he got home he smuggled the candy bars into Gabe's pillowcase, along with a note that told him to eat them in secret.

After lunch, Michael had to deal with Anna. He confirmed her time at midnight, but not without trepidation. After Crowley the night before, he had been too exhausted to walk, and he knew Anna would want him to take control. He supposed he would just have to deal with it.

The plug he had been ordered to wear, however, was a matter not so easily dealt with; he blamed his restlessness on the fact he had slept in and not the fact that he did not want to sit down, when asked by Raphael. Michael had to remove it once, and he showered right afterwards, both to ensure he stayed loose and so he was already clean for later. He was certain Crowley would not mind, even if he did somehow find out.

Michael was nervous around his brothers all day, but Gabriel kept his word and the others did not seem suspicious. He was out of the house by eight-thirty and arrived at Crowley's house exactly on time.

"Ah, Michael," said Crowley pleasantly when he opened the door. "You look refreshed."

"I slept in." Michael did not sound happy about that fact.

"That's good to hear," Crowley remarked. "Drink?"

"Are you never going to stop offering?"

"You know what they say. Third time's a charm."

"You are not that charming," said Michael dryly.

"Even you must know you're wrong there," Crowley chuckled. He still held the bottle.

"Oh, yes." Crowley seemed to bring out the sarcasm in Michael, who rolled up his sleeves to display his raw wrists. "Such a charmer."

"Don't worry, love," said Crowley with a wink. "The hand cuffs aren't coming out today. Now, do you want a drink, or not?"

"No, thank you."

Crowley sighed. "Fine. You know the drill."

With an imperious look on his face, Michael strode past Crowley down the hall, which prompted an amused chortle from the older man. He stood in his place in the middle of the rug and waited for orders.

"Naked," said Crowley over his shoulder, going to the closet.

"Exactly how much do you have in there?" Michael asked as he set to stripping.

"A closetful," Crowley replied. "Maybe I'll show you one day." He returned with a coil of thin black rope in his hands and patiently waited for Michael to get his pants and socks off. He stood in front of him and looped the centre of the rope around the back of his neck, as if measuring it.

"Seventy?" asked Michael, having seen enough bondage ropes to know the length. "That seems a little excessive."

"Trust me; I know what I'm doing." Crowley laughed lightly. He deftly made three knots in the rope: one between the collarbones, one beneath the sternum, and one below the navel. He then passed both ends of the rope between Michael's legs and looped them through the segment around the back of his neck.

"Go lay down," Crowley told him, "but keep your head up." Michael did as he was told, his head and shoulders the only things propped against the pillows. He made sure the ends of the rope were accessible for when Crowley wanted them.

Crowley had stripped to his pants and made his way over to Michael, pushing his legs apart and kneeling between them. He took the loose ends of the rope and made a loop around each of the younger man's wrists, then lashing them to the bedposts. The rope travelled back down his arms and through the back to wind around his chest, resting on the knot Crowley had made. The same motion was repeated for the other two knots, and a lip was made around each his thigh and ankle, binding them together. To complete the process, Crowley spread Michael's legs and tied the rope coming off of his ankles to the other bedposts. The entire procedure took less than two minutes, Crowley's fingers working expertly to ensure Michael was trapped, but not in pain; though the rope was snug, it was far from uncomfortable. Crowley had been right: he knew what he was doing.

Michael had to admit that while this was not what he had had in mind, it was certainly not unpleasant. He smirked darkly when Crowley looked down at him to run an approving eye over his body. "Like what you see?" he echoed Crowley's words from their first encounter.

"It's very lovely," Crowley mumbled distractedly, and Michael could see the bulge growing in his pants. He placed his hands on either side of Michael's chest and leaned forward. "Now kiss me like you mean it," he growled.

Michael was ready when Crowley kissed him, his lips parting beneath the other man's. This time, however, he fought back, trying to take control of the kiss. He pushed Crowley's tongue back into his own mouth and turned his head slightly for a better angle. He felt Crowley grin and resolved to keep in mind that the other man liked to be challenged.

Being tied up the way he was, there was not much Michael could do, but he arched his hips up to try to press their groins together. Crowley impatiently pushed him back down, at the same time using the distraction to regain control of the kiss. His tongue ran up the underside of Michael's and he slowly let go of his hip, poised to pounce again if Michael should try anything.

Crowley had awakened a rebellious fire in Michael, who pushed back again and bit at the other man's lip. Crowley let out a pleased grunt and reciprocated, bringing his teeth down a little harder than Michael had.

Trapped above his head, Michael's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into the skin. He felt the kiss begin to lose structure as he ran his tongue along Crowley's and then underneath it. He bit at the older man's lip again and tasted blood.

Crowley pulled back for air, grinning wildly as he looked down at Michael. He licked the blood off his lip and ran his hands up and down Michael's body, fingers pressing into every sensitive spot. Michael leaned his head back against the bed frame and lost himself in Crowley's touches, making to effort to regulate the moans or whimpers that he knew Crowley so enjoyed.

Crowley bent his head to kiss at Michael's neck, but Michael was not finished being challenging. Before Crowley's lips touched him, Michael turned his head to kiss the older man's jaw. He was surprised when Crowley allowed this and actually tilted his head up to grant Michael better access.

Taking full advantage of this, Michael latched on just below his jaw, sucking at the skin and then running his tongue over it. He felt himself grow fully erect when Crowley's moan sent vibrations all down his body.

As if suddenly remembering that he was supposed to be in control, Crowley pulled up sharply and grabbed Michael's jaw, forcing his head to the other side. He left a trail of kisses down his neck and chest; small bite marks were clear on Michael's smooth skin.

Michael moaned licentiously, trailing off into a whimper. The tingling that had been left on his flesh seemed to expand over his whole body and he became hyper-aware of everywhere Crowley was touching him—or everywhere he was not. Michael struggled against the ropes, squirming to try to get more contact. He heard Crowley chuckle.

"Patience, love." His low, raspy voice flooded Michael's consciousness and he shuddered; his moans alone would have been enough to put any others in his line of work to shame. With that, Michael relinquished control once more and his muscles relaxed.

Satisfied that he had won, Crowley lifted his head once more and sat up. He moved over to beside Michael, ignoring the younger man's pleas, and sat back on his legs so that Michael's head was in his lap. Without having to be told, Michael turned his head to bury his face in Crowley's thighs and tried to tug his pants down with his teeth.

"You want it bad, hm?" Crowley crooned, tangling his fingers in Michael's hair and keeping him just out of reach. "Tell me how badly you want it."

Michael let out a light whimper, but he managed to find his voice and whisper hoarsely, "Want you…want to feel you at the back of my throat…want you to fill me up…"

"Yes, love. I know." Crowley shifted again, kneeling to slip his pants off and then straddling Michael's chest. He gave himself a few priming strokes before he brought his cock down to touch against Michael's lips.

Michael was on him in an instant, licking up the underside of his length before bobbing down over the head. He circled his tongue around Crowley's girth and then dipped his head to take him in halfway. He anticipated Crowley's forward thrust and closed his throat as he felt the press against it, his cheeks puffing out. Bent at the angle he was, it was impossible for him to look up at Crowley, but he felt both hands in his hair, blunt nails scratching the back of his neck.

Michael pulled off of Crowley's cock to lick up the entire side of his length, his groans prompting noises from Crowley as well. His neck was beginning to get sore, but all thought of that was banished from his mind when his tongue pressed against the bundle of nerves under the head of Crowley's cock, causing it to twitch into his mouth. Michael lapped at the slit before Crowley was suddenly gone, and looked up to see the other man covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

Crowley got off of Michael, leaving the younger man with flushed cheeks and swollen lips which glistened with spittle and precome. He settled between his thighs once more, teasing his fingers around the base of Michael's cock, which had started to ache. The beginning of Michael's smirk turned into a longing whine and he breathed Crowley's name.

"What do you want, love?" Crowley prompted, running only the tips of his fingers up Michael's length; it made the ache worse rather than relieving it.

"I want you—" Michael struggled to make his words clear. "Please…please…"

Crowley shook his head, his fingers coming down to tease around Michael's entrance. His knuckle brushed up against the plug and even that tiny movement made Michael issue a cry. "Not good enough," Crowley taunted.

Michael whined. "Let me feel you inside of me…" He was struggling against the ropes again, now wishing he was less helpless.

Crowley eased the plug out, provoking another whimper at the sudden emptiness, and ran the tip of his finger around Michael's inner walls. The lubricant from the plug had kept him sufficiently slick, and he was stretched wide after a whole day. "Not good enough," Crowley repeated.

"Please~" Michael's whisper was barely audible, and his throat burned with tears. "Please, Crowley…"

"I want to hear you say it like the whore you are," Crowley grunted, slipping his finger in to only the first knuckle before pulling it back out.

"Fuck me!" The cry burst from the back of Michael's throat, and he screamed himself hoarse. "Please, please fuck me!"

"There it is," Crowley praised him, grabbing Michael's hips and pushing himself in to the base. Michael cried out, his feet and hands both straining at the rope. His pelvis was lifted mere inches off the bed and he let out a long, high-pitched moan as Crowley slowly slid back out.

"Harder—! Go harder," Michael gasped, a stuttering cry leaping out of him when Crowley slammed back in. The older man ran his hands up Michael's sides, stopping when his thumbs could rub small circles over his nipples.

Michael's mouth fell open, but only air rushed out: he was beyond words. He brought his knees in to press against Crowley's sides, the closest he could come to wrapping them around the other's waist.

"Did just what I told you to, hm?" Crowley hummed. "Kept yourself wide open and wet for me." He sped up, the slap of his skin against Michael's lost among the moans coming from both of them.

Michael did not respond—he could not respond, lost in a red haze of pleasure. He simply cried out on each inward thrust, clenching and unclenching rapidly around Crowley's length.

Crowley's hands loosened on Michael's ribcage and he scratched down his side moments before releasing. He slowed down but thrust no less deep, working himself through his orgasm.

The hot spurt of seed filling him was what sent Michael off. He came untouched, coating his own stomach with warmth. It was only then that Crowley touched him, keeping his strokes in time with his thrusts.

Crowley pulled out when they had both finished, leaving Michael dripping back onto the sheets. He leaned up to press a kiss to his quivering lips and then his weight was suddenly gone. Michael only understood why when his legs began to drift back together; Crowley's fingers undid the rope just as quickly as he had done it up. He helped Michael sit up and lean against him as he undid the harness and finally freed his hands.

Michael leaned back against the headboard, rubbing his wrists as Crowley coiled up the rope and stowed it back in the closet. He managed to keep his eyes open this time, but spaced out as the other got dressed.

"You alright there, Michael?" Crowley asked, tucking his shirt in.

"Yes," Michael replied weakly. His vision snapped back to reality when Crowley set his clothes down on the bed beside him. He had time to start getting dressed, moving stiffly while Crowley went to get his wallet.

"There you are," said Crowley when Michael had finished, holding out his payment.

Michael did not even bother counting it. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_ ," Crowley laughed. "Some people wouldn't have been able to handle that."

"I have taken worse," Michael grunted, his head hanging as he swung his legs off the edge of the bed.

"Good to know," said Crowley. Then, as he had offered the last time: "Want a ride?"

Michael shook his head wearily. "I have another client."

"In this state?" Crowley was incredulous.

"I will make due. She is not nearly so taxing as you," Michael sighed.

"No one is." Crowley regarded Michael for a moment. "Do you want a coffee?"

"N—" Michael began, then thought better of it. "Yes, actually," he said gratefully.

"It's a miracle; he accepted something!" Crowley cried dramatically.

"Do not make me change my mind."

"How do you take it?" asked Crowley, ignoring the threat.

Michael usually drank his coffee black, simply because sugar and cream were luxuries he could not afford. "One sugar, two milk?" he hazarded, figuring he would give it a shot.

"Sure." Crowley disappeared down the hall, Michael following a minute later. He fluttered nervously by the front door, not having been invited farther into the house.

"Here," said Crowley, handing him a travel mug. "I figured you had to leave soon, since you won't accept a ride. You can bring the cup back next time."

"So there will be a next time?" Michael asked in neutral tones.

"Most definitely," replied Crowley. "You're the best I've ever had."

Michael snorted. "Do not mock me."

"I'm not," said Crowley, opening the door for him. "You're good at what you do."

"I know," Michael replied, and disappeared into the night. He did not last long with Anna, who sneered at him when she found out why, telling him not to count on her business as long as he accepted anything up his ass. She threw a crumpled fifty after him and he shoved it in with the rest of his pay.

The caffeine wore off halfway back, and Michael went from limping home to staggering up the stairs. He nearly forgot to shut the front door and had to go back after it. Navigating his room without waking Lucifer was even more difficult, but luckily his brother was a heavy sleeper. Michael stowed the cash beneath his mattress to be distributed at a later date and spent about twenty minutes trying to find a position to lay in that did not press against somewhere sore. The one he found was far from comfortable, but it sufficed: Michael was asleep in minutes.


	4. Chapter 4

The lapse in business Michael had been suffering was more than made up for during the course of the following week. He worked three or four clients each night, even reaching six on the Friday. He was exhausted on Saturday and looking forward to a good night's sleep, heading off to bed at nine o' clock. Michael's breathing had barely begun to even out when his phone buzzed, and he peered blurrily at the message: 'Eleven? –C'

If anyone else had texted him, Michael might have ignored it. But he knew he would regret not having the extra money later when Gabriel caught a cold or Lucifer needed a haircut. So he got up, made himself a (black) coffee in the mug he had been loaned, and left the house with a brief lie to his brothers.

"Good evening," said Crowley, and the first thing Michael noticed was the white collar.

"Please tell me you are _not_ a priest," he groaned.

"Only for tonight, love," Crowley laughed.

"Oh, God," Michael sighed, shaking his head as if in disappointment.

"Blasphemy," Crowley said airily. "Drink?"

"Scotch is unholy."

"I'm corrupt."  
Michael nodded. "I will meet you in the bedroom." He heard liquid being poured into a glass as he walked down the hall. Whether consciously or not, he had memorized the number of steps it took.

Crowley joined him a few moments later, shutting the door behind him. "Come to repent for your sins, have you?"

"I was under the impression I had come to add to them," Michael responded bluntly.

"That's the devil in you talking." Crowley frowned. "Are you unclean?" he added, and Michael caught the deeper meaning beneath the words. It had been a week, after all.

"I am yet untainted," he replied, easing into the role, "but I am filled with sin."

"Remove thy wrappings," Crowley intoned, "so that the Lord may see thy sins written upon thee."

Michael pulled his shirt over his head to hide his smile. "Did you rehearse this?"

"Maybe," Crowley chuckled in his normal voice. "I wouldn't want to be a disappointment."

Michael scoffed and stripped the rest of the way. When he looked at Crowley again, his expression was one of doe-eyed innocence. "I have been a victim to carnal appetites. I have sold my body for pleasure outside of the union of Holy wedlock. I have been defiled in every way imaginable. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

Michael saw the look of pleased surprise and arousal Crowley tried to hide, and did a much better job at hiding his own smirk; he was supposed to be contrite.

Crowley approached and placed his hand over Michael's groin, massaging almost imperceptibly. "The Lord sees thy sins written upon thy body." He gave a slight squeeze and rubbed his thumb over the base of the other man's cock; Michael began to feel his blood run downwards, and Crowley noticed. "Even now, thou feelst the pull of sin. Look into mine eyes and thou canst repent."

Michael looked up, the spell of Crowley's words seeming now more mysterious than humourous. He felt a slight pressure around the base of his cock and he did not have to look down to know what it was: it would keep him from getting hard.

"Through me, the Lord shall cure thee. Through thy previous sins, thou shalt be absolved. Kneel, and receive penance." Crowley's other hand came to rest atop Michael's head as he eased the other man to his knees. He undid his trousers and dropped them around his ankles, his pants following suit. "Let now the Lord see what thou hast done—" His grip tangled in Michael's hair— "so He knows best how to forgive thee." His free hand gripped his semi-hard cock at the base and he guided it towards Michael's lips.

In a show of reverence, Michael dropped his gaze and parted his lips, as if awaiting communion. He felt the heaviness of the other's cock on his tongue, and he let it sit there a moment before closing around it and bobbing down. He reached up to take the base in hand, stroking slowly where his mouth did not reach.

Crowley let out a quiet moan and ran his fingers through Michael's hair. "Look into mine eyes…" he repeated breathily, "so the Lord may see thee." Michael looked up, bright green irises narrowing as he felt Crowley steadily get harder in his mouth. He pulled off with a slight pop, only to trail his tongue up the thick vein running along Crowley's length. He felt it pulse once and then pressed the tip of his tongue to the slit before bobbing back down again.

Crowley groaned louder this time, rocking his hips forward slightly to push himself deeper. Michael twisted his wrist as he stroked the base, focusing on swirling his tongue slowly around his width. His other hand came up to rest against Crowley's hip as he sucked up nearly to the head only to dip back down again. He felt pressure building behind his own cock, though the ring in place there was hindering his arousal.

Now fully erect, Crowley brought his other hand to clamp down on Michael's shoulder, delivering firm and unyielding pressure. His eyes shifted from Michael's to the ceiling and back again as he whispered a stream of obscenities and praises.

Michael removed the hand from the base of Crowley's cock to massage his balls. He bowed his head even further, managing to press his nose into the coarse hair between his hips, though he gave a sputtering cough as he did so. The vein pressed against his tongue pulsed again and he had to pull away for air, eyes watering.

"Thou strivest to please the Lord," Crowley said, his voice rough as he tried to keep it under control. "Arise, and we shall see if thou hast been purged."

Michael stood, licking his lips smoothly. He reached down to touch himself only to have his hand slapped away. He let out a disappointed whimper, though he still struggled for a moment to intake air.

Crowley palmed Michael's groin again before taking hold of the ring as drawing it slowly off his cock. Michael immediately grew erect, letting out a relieved moan at the new freedom.

"Still thou art guilty of sin." Crowley's voice was silk-polished steel. "The Devil is in thee, and we shall have to banish him." His hands fell to Michael's hips and he propelled him towards the bed, then pushing down on his chest to lay him on his back. The collar and shirt came off and then Crowley knelt naked between Michael's legs, though a flash of silver winked from one hand.

Michael had been relaxed, but he began to sit up with a jolt when he saw the knife. Crowley's fingers against his chest stopped him, and the older man spoke softly, breaking character. "Don't worry, love. I won't cut you."

Michael nodded warily, easing back again but regarding the blade nervously. Holding his gaze, Crowley dragged the point of the knife lightly over Michael's chest, leaving behind a tingling trail infused with pleasure. Satisfied that he would remain unhurt, Michael slipped back into his role. "I wish to repent…heal me, oh Lord above…"

"The Lord shall enter unto thee through me, and He shall purge thee of this corruption." The point of the knife traced a five-pointed pattern over Michael's chest, and the electrifying feeling travelled straight up his cock, making him moan.

"Exorcizamus te," Crowley whispered, the knife coming up to trace a cross on Michael's forehead, "o diabolum en carnem angelici…"

Michael felt Crowley's words more than he heard them, the Latin rolling over his body and nestling in his consciousness. _We banish thee, oh devil in the body of an angel…_ He moaned and rolled his hips up, trying to press against Crowley.

"Exorcizamus te, tu que noster filium conrumpavit. Deus te penetrat, Deus te liberat." The words rolled smoothly off Crowley's tongue and he pressed the flat of the blade to Michael's neck. _We banish thee, thou who hast corrupted our son. God enters thee, God absolves thee._

The cool metal contrasted sharply with Michael's heated skin and he turned his head sideways to bare more of his neck. He groaned as he felt Crowley's fingers slip through his entrance, curving slightly and penetrating all the way to the base. He clenched around them once and then relaxed, though his moans only increased in volume as they were spread to open him up.

"Through me, feel the Lord's presence inside thee," Crowley intoned. The blunt metal pressed further into Michael's skin as Crowley leaned forward to slowly push in, his other hand clamped around the back of the younger man's thigh. Michael gave a small cry, which was repeated periodically as Crowley moved inside him.

Michael felt the cold sensation that the blade evoked running down his body like water, and he realized that Crowley was trailing it downwards. He brought the leg that was being gripped up to his chest as he felt the knife dance over his stomach. The movement allowed Crowley to angle in deeper and bring the point down the hollow between Michael's leg and groin. The younger man shivered and his hands came up to grip Crowley's biceps; to his pleased surprise, he was not rebuffed.

Crowley sped up, though he did not thrust as hard as he had before: it was clear he was more focused on getting Michael to finish first.

Michael reached down to work himself, his strokes coming faster than Crowley's thrusts. The doubled pleasure brought a surge to his lower stomach and he could tell he was on the brink. A high-pitched gust of air escaped his parted lips as he clenched and angled up so Crowley could hit his prostate.

A shudder wracked Michael's body as he released; he dripped down his own length and felt warmth pool in the crevice of his hip. As Michael's orgasm subsided, Crowley pulled out and sat up on his knees, flipping the knife to his other hand to trace a cross on Michael's chest. He gripped the younger man's triceps to haul him to a sitting position and cupped the back of his head.

"The darkness has been purged." Crowley's voice was gruff. "Now take into thee the Lord's blessing, so that thou shalt not be tainted again."

Michael did not resist as Crowley pushed his head forward, and he took the other man's cock into his mouth once more. With the last waves of pleasure lapping through his body, Michael offered no resistance in bobbing his head all the way down his shaft. He came back up to sick on just the tip, and Crowley's hand held him firmly in place as the older man released.

"May the Lord's blessing…guard thee…against sin…" Crowley panted raggedly, his length gliding along Michael's lips as he worked through his climax.

Michael swallowed around him, using his tongue to swipe up the last of the hot seed that ran down his throat. Crowley did not let him up until he had finished completely, and even then eased him off slowly. He looked down at Michael and held his shoulder, the knife abandoned in favour his fingertips making the sign of the cross on the younger man's skin.

"Thou hast repented…thou art forgiven." Crowley's voice sounded halfway between his usual and the lower one he had used for show. "Let the Lord bear witness to this in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

"Amen…" Michael breathed as Crowley sat back. A tired little smile graced his lips and he met the older man's eyes in amusement.

"Do you feel cleansed?" Crowley chuckled.

"I feel filthy," Michael replied with a smirk.

"Good." Crowley got up to pull his pants on, and then tossed Michael's clothes onto the bed.

Michael could not help but shake his head in amusement at that, quickly donning his clothes once more. "That was mild, compared to usual."

"I figured I would explore the mind aspect of it."

"Fair enough," Michael agreed. "It worked."

"I know." Crowley placed a few hundreds in Michael's open palm.

"Do you actually know Latin?" Michael asked, simply to see how much preparation Crowley had put into this.

"Naturally. Do you?"

"Enough to understand you." Michael stood and started for the door, but Crowley's arm caught him by the waist.

"I'm free all next week."

Michael arched a brow. "When do you want me?"

"Oh," said Crowley mysteriously, "you'll be back whether I call you or not."

Michael patted the other's chest patronizingly. "That is not how it works." He spun out of Crowley's grasp and completed his walk out, not looking back once. He was not terribly tired, but he kept his promise to himself and took the rest of the night off, falling asleep comfortably when he got home.

If the bang of door slamming open at six o' clock in the morning did not wake Michael, his brother's insistent shaking did.

"Mikey!" Lucifer hissed. "Michael, wake up! There's someone in the house," he whispered hurriedly when the addressed opened his eyes.

Michael shot up immediately and looked at Lucifer with wide eyes. He pressed a finger to his lips, picking up the closest item, and got to his feet. "Go keep Raphael and Gabriel safe," he whispered, holding the lamp defensively as he opened the door. He had time to see Lucifer nod and dash across the hall to the younger boys' room before he stepped out into the hall, creeping down the stairs: he was prepared to strike at a moment's notice. He reached the bottom and—

"Dad?" Michael dropped the lamp in surprise and it shattered on the floor. He had not seen his father in three years. "Wh-why are you here?"

"I'm here because of this," Chuck hissed, holding up a piece of printed paper. Realization struck Michael that he was looking at his own ads.

"How did you find those…?" Michael asked, his voice barely a whisper. Chuck's response was cut off by a small tired voice at the top of the steps.

"Mikey? What's going on?" asked Gabriel with a yawn, clutching his stuffed platypus to his chest. The sleep had not yet cleared enough from his eyes for him to recognize Chuck, but his brothers stood by him: Raphael was to his side, looking like he was ready to pass out, and Lucifer stood behind them both, his eyes wide in shock.

"Your brother's a whore, Gabriel," Chuck answered calmly, and the room went dead silent. Three pairs of eyes fell on Michael, who had stopped breathing. Unsurprisingly, it was Lucifer who spoke first, his voice shaky and uncertain.

"Mike…? What the Hell is this?" He sounded more frightened than angry, and he took a tentative step towards his brother.

Michael's gaze dropped to his feet, but he still heard Chuck's derisive tone. "Stay put, Lucifer. Let your brother speak."

"I…" The words dried up on Michael's tongue. "I had to support them…" He was sick to his stomach, tears making his voice hoarse. "Y-you just left, and we had nothing, and I had to—"

"Excuses," Chuck snapped, cutting him off. "You could have done something else, _become_ something else."

"I tried!" Michael cried, bringing his hands up to his face. "I tried so hard, and you told me to take care of them and I did my best!" He shoulders shook as his tears spilled out of him. He was dimly aware of his brothers whispering on the steps.

"But…but he _can't_ be," Gabriel mumbled desperately. "It doesn't make any sense, he's our _brother_."

"I would rather have had nothing but pride than to live off of that," Raphael muttered to himself.

"Shut up!" Lucifer hissed at them both.

Michael felt his father's hand on his shoulder, something he swore he might never feel again. "Look at me," said Chuck firmly. Michael dropped his hands and looked up hopefully, trying to ignore his brothers' stares.

Chuck's face held no warmth, or love, or compassion. His voice was even colder. "Get out," he said. "You're no son of mine."

The words hit Michael numbly and he stared in shock, his only noise an alarmed stutter. Chuck shook his shoulder and then stepped back in disgust.

"You're filthy," he said. "This family doesn't need you." He walked to the door and opened it mercilessly. "Get. Out."

Michael walked as if in a dream, pausing on the threshold to look back at his brothers. Gabriel was sobbing into Raphael's chest, and the older boy would not meet his eyes. Only Lucifer regarded him sadly, his mouth slightly agape and his brow furrowed. Michael opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by his father once more.

"And don't even think about loitering on my doorstep like the hooker you are," Chuck sneered, closing the door on him. The curtains were drawn shut, and all the lights went off in the little house as the children were sent back to bed.

Michael found himself staring brokenly at what had been his home, zoning out so completely that the sun had fully risen by the time he came back to himself. He stiffly turned away and dragged his leaden legs along the sidewalk, knowing that he left for good.

It was the hardest thing he had ever done.

Michael's phone died within the next few days, and even with a red light above it, he knew that the cash he had and would accumulate would not long pay for the motel room he had rented. He ushered his clients out quickly each night, not even bothering to get dressed and instead falling asleep on sweat-soaked sheets, his pillow stained with his own tears. He only continued working to stay alive, and even that stemmed solely from a stubborn refusal to die: he had nothing to live for.

When he had only ten dollars left to his name, Michael turned in his key and took to drifting between park benches. He snuck in an occasional shower at the nearest community pool, and made enough money at night to afford enough food to live off of and protection for himself: now that he was homeless, he could not afford to be sick. Michael kept track of the days by marking tallies in crude chalk on the brick wall of an alley he frequented.

His spirit was broken in eight days.


	5. Chapter 5

"I told you you'd be back." Crowley had opened the door before Michael had had a chance to knock.

"You were right," Michael sighed, not bothering to defend himself. He edged past Crowley moodily and took his shoes off. "I need a shower before we do anything; you can take it off my pay."

"Nonsense," said Crowley. "I won't make you pay for your own personal hygiene: I benefit from it too, you know."

"Thank you." Michael followed Crowley down the hall and nodded gratefully when he was waved into the bathroom. "Wait—" He held up his phone. "Do you have a charger?" He had had to swallow every ounce of pride to ask.

"I should." Crowley held out his hand and accepted the device. "Would you like a change of clothes?"

"Nothing you have will fit me," said Michael, not prepared to accept any charity. "If you must do something, could you just run mine through the dryer?"

"I'll do you one better and wash them." Crowley threw him a light smile. "But you may have to stick around a little longer. There are a few housecoats in the linen closet in the meantime."

"That's fine, thank you." Michael did not mean to be rude, but he felt on the brink of tears once more and did not want to be seen broken down. The door clicked shut and he heard Crowley's footsteps leave. It was only then that he stripped, pausing to toss his clothes out into the bedroom.

The hot water and firm pressure alone was enough to make Michael weep with relief, not to mention the feeling of soap. He wrapped himself snugly in a warm black robe that was a few inches short on him, but nonetheless the most comfortable thing he had worn in more than a week. He did not find Crowley in the bedroom when he emerged, but did not have to look long to find the older man sitting at the breakfast nook that separated his kitchen and dining room.

"You look as though you feel much better," Crowley commented. "Drink?"

"Yes, please," said Michael gratefully, sliding into the chair opposite Crowley, whose eyebrows raised as he poured the whiskey.

"Rough night?"

Michael laughed bitterly. "You could say that."

Crowley slid the drink across the counter. "What's ailing you?"

"Midlife crisis," Michael snapped sarcastically, draining the glass.

"At the ripe young age of twenty-two?" said Crowley incredulously, not without a hint of mocking.

"I am twenty-three now," Michael informed him. He had not even realized it until now; it had not been important.

"Cheers," said Crowley, raising his glass. "Please tell me you didn't work on your birthday."

Michael shrugged. "I would be lying."

"What do you want?"

"Hm?"

"If someone asked you right now what you wanted for your birthday, what would it be?" asked Crowley. "I'd like to make it up to you; I won't make you work tonight."

"No." Without the work, everything Crowley had done for him would have been given freely. "I will work. I should think—" He tilted his head, considering Crowley's question— "that I would really like to hit something." After his shower, his plight seemed a little less desperate and some of his sadness had been replaced with anger.

"Ah, I have just the thing." Crowley stood, and when it was cleat he was going to the bedroom, Michael went after him. He was not surprised when Crowley disappeared into the closet again.

"You see," Crowley said as he emerged with a short length of rope, "I wasn't sure if you could play dom." He nodded at Michael's hand and then slapped a riding crop into his open palm.

Michael looked up suddenly, stunned. "Are you serious?"

"It's up to you."

Michael's expression hardened and he gave the briefest of nods. "Lay down. Shirt off."

"Now, don't get me wrong," said Crowley as he complied. He put the rope in Michael's other hand before walking to the bed. "I'm still gonna end up inside you."

"You know I can ride," Michael replied shortly, looking between the two objects in his hands. "Are my clothes clean?"  
"They're in the dryer."

"Good." Michael let the front of the robe fall open as he clambered onto the bed, straddling the other man's stomach. "Hands."

Crowley displayed his open palms and Michael wound the rope through the headboard to fix Crowley's wrists to it loosely. The older man's elbows were bent at right angles at shoulder height.

Michael dragged the riding crop slowly down the centre of Crowley's chest. "Do you not find it odd," he purred seductively, "to be paying someone to beat you?"

Crowley wet his lips. "I feel like no one appreciates the erotic value of pain."

"Bit of a masochist, are you?" The question was rhetorical, and the leather crop travelled back up.

"Sadomasochist," Crowley corrected pompously. "You should know."

"Me too." Michael grinned. "Do you remember the safe word?"

"It was 'stop,' was it not?"

Michael brought the crop down behind his leg to crack against Crowley's hip. "Do not feign ignorance."

Crowley's fists clenched. "It was 'stop.'"

"Good." Placing his hand on Crowley's chest and sliding backwards, Michael bent to kiss the other man's neck. He nudged Crowley's head to the side and left teasing nibbles along his jawline, more to create longing than to provide stimulation.

Crowley breathed out raggedly. "Yes…take it slow. But don't make me beg."

Michael sat up and slapped him across the face with his free hand, hard. "You put me in charge," he said dangerously. "I decide how this goes." Of course, Michael was the one being paid, so he would do as he was asked. That did not mean, however, that he could not put on airs.

"Of course," said Crowley, then grunted as the leather came down across his shoulder. "Yessir," he amended.

Michael bent down to resume his activities, his bites slowly becoming more insistent until they were leaving faint marks. Crowley was breathing heavily, and he let out the occasional moan—each was met with a strike of the riding crop.

After sucking a dark bruise into Crowley's collarbone, Michael looked up with a diabolic smile. He had been keeping track of the other man's erection, which was now pressing against his ass through the robe. "Excited, are we? Should I help you out with that?"

"Yes," Crowley breathed, and Michael backhanded him. "Yessir." His tongue flicked out over his lip as he watched Michael slide down his body, coming to rest between his legs. He undid Crowley's belt with one hand, keeping the tip of the crop pressed against his sternum with the other.

"Poor you," Michael crooned. "You've had to wait so long for me." He undid the other's trousers and pulled them down past his groin. He bent down to fit his mouth around the bulge in Crowley's pants, his warm breath through the cotton the only thing Crowley was going to receive.

"Worth the wait," the older man replied, trying to reach down and forgetting about the rope that stopped him short. He bit his lip as his cock grew harder still between Michael's lips.

"Mm, I know I am." Michael sat up and tied the belt of the robe loosely around his waist, then shrugging the top half off his shoulders. His ass was still covered and the ties draped over his cock, half obscuring it from view. He felt Crowley's eyes on him as his powerful shoulders worked to get the other's trousers off completely. He rubbed him through his pants and then picked up the riding crop from where he had left it beside him, running it up Crowley's thigh and over his groin.

Crowley moaned lowly, tugging at the ropes once and prompting a strike on the forearm from Michael. He brought his legs in to try to bring Michael closer to him, to no avail.

"You do realize," Michael commented, "that with your hands tied I'll have to open myself up all alone." At Crowley's disappointed frown, Michael struck him on the stomach. "You provided the rope."

"So I did," Crowley admitted, adding the 'sir' before Michael could strike him. He ran his tongue unconsciously over his lips as he felt Michael work his pants off.

Michael leaned forward again, pressing his lips to Crowley's in a kiss that was just light enough to be teasing. He passed one hand down between himself and the older man, to rest between his legs. "You don't even get to watch," he said with mock pity as he used two fingers to spread himself open. He tried not to let his face betray the feeling and only half-succeeded.

Crowley smiled knowingly. "Not as good as the real thing, is it?" His voice was rough as Michael's expression set to quickening his pulse even further.

"Shut up," Michael grunted, but he did not strike him. Instead, he fully discarded the robe and withdrew his fingers, rutting back against the older man's length. Crowley, in turn, pushed his head back and his hips up, having taken note that Michael had dropped the riding crop.

Michael was not finished being authoritative, however. "Not a sound out of you, or I do it myself," he warned boldly before easing himself down onto the other's cock. He could tell Crowley was hard-pressed to keep silent, and he smirked as he planted his hands on his chest.

Crowley was under no obligation to his commands, Michael knew. But he also suspected that his client was enjoying this more than even he was letting on. Once Crowley had adjusted to Michael around him, he let out a shaky breath and grinned. "I win."

"I never said you could speak," Michael reprimanded him, slowly pulling back off. Crowley protested, but Michael ignored him. He projected every intention of coming off completely until he almost hovered just over the tip, then slamming himself back down.

Crowley's exclamation of mixed surprise and pleasure was louder than he had ever been. Inwardly, Michael smirked, but he had to keep up appearances. He slapped him again. "Stop shouting."

Though the next noise Crowley made was quieter, it was also twice as erotic as the last, and it lengthened into a groan as Michael began moving.

"Was I not clear when I said not a sound?" Michael's authority was undermined by the breaking of his words, and the fact that no physical blows proceeded them. He marked Crowley bite his tongue, however, and nodded in approval as his moans were cut short.

Rolling his hips smoothly with the rhythm of his riding, Michael reached down to stroke himself, having noted that Crowley's eyes were on his cock. The moans that came out of him, however, were almost entirely due to the other man and not his own hand. His free hand came up to rest lightly around Crowley's throat.

Crowley had his eyes closed now, thrusting upward as Michael rode. He seemed to be having a very hard time making no noise, which was probably why he had shut out Michael's image. The younger man could see the tendons in his forearms straining with the pressure he was putting on the rope.

Before he released, Michael wanted Crowley to break once more. He moaned seductively, and then spoke in a wanton tone: "Come on baby, look at me…"

Crowley's eyes opened in surprise—Michael realized he had never spoken to him like that before—to see the younger man throw him a smirk. A shudder ran through him, his cock pulsed, and he groaned, though it was so low that it was more of a sensation than a sound.

The hand around Crowley's throat tightened, Michael's fingers pressing into the soft flesh. Crowley gasped as his air was half cut off, but his breath hitched when he released.

Michael's pace never slowed, not even after his own climax. He only pulled off when they were both completely finished, though he still straddled Crowley as he leaned forward to untie the rope.

Crowley nipped lightly at Michael's neck when he was bent over him, which actually made the younger man pause in his actions. Then, coming back to himself, he slid the rope out from the headboard and climbed off of the other man, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Feel better?" Crowley asked, not having bothered to sit up and watching Michael through hooded eyes.

Michael turned to look at him; Crowley was covered with red streaks where Michael had hit him, and even his cheeks were pink from the slapping. He had not realized he was being quite so aggressive, but in the moment he had needed it. Now, however, reality started to creep back in. "Yes," he answered for facility's sake. "Thank you."

Crowley nodded, composing himself a moment before he sat up and dragged his pants back on. "I'll go get your stuff," he mumbled. He seemed to be gone a long time, for which Michael was grateful. He had nowhere to go, he realized as he swung his feet idly.

"Talk about timing," laughed Crowley as he came back in. "They just finished." He handed Michael a bundle of clothes, which were warm and soft, much different than he was used to: even living at home, they had hand-washed and line-dried everything.

"Thank you," Michael said again, dressing quickly.

Crowley was regarding him dubiously. "Are you alright? Do you want something to eat? You look a little…pale."

"I'm fine," said Michael, harsher than necessary. "I just…really would like to go home." That was true, and it hurt.

Crowley misunderstood—how could he have possibly understood?—and nodded. "Alright. Well…" He took his wallet out of his trousers laying on the floor and handed Michael his pay before moving to dress himself. "Have a good night, then."

Recognizing this as a dismissal, Michael muttered his thanks and walked out, not looking at the older man. He stopped on the porch, his back to the now closed door and looked out into the night.

He failed to notice when the tears started.

He failed to notice when they turned to sobs, or when he started shaking, or when he sat down. He was on the top landing, his feet planted a few steps below him, crying into his arms, which rested lightly on his lap.

Michael did not hear the door open, but he did hear Crowley's voice. "Forgot your ph—" he had started to call out before spying Michael still on his porch. His voice softened. "Oh, my."

Michael raised his head abruptly, scrubbing the backs of his hands across his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said desperately, embarrassed. "I-I'll go."

Instead of a response, Michael heard the creaking of the wood as Crowley sat down beside him. He dropped his head back into his arms, a few more tears leaking out before he registered the arm that had settled around him. Crowley rubbed his shoulder comfortingly and Michael leaned into him, renewing his sobs. "I'm s-sorry," he repeated. "I don't mean to—"

"Hush, love," Crowley whispered, drawing Michael closer to him. "Just let it out."

Michael turned his head to bury his face in Crowley's shoulder, all the hurt and anger and heartbreak of the last few weeks pouring out of him. Crowley rubbed his shoulder all the while, speaking softly to him until he calmed down. Michael had no idea how long it taken, but he had a headache and he was dizzy. He glanced up, surprised to find Crowley already looking down at him in concern. "I'm sorry," he said for a third time, still a little short of breath.

"What happened?" Crowley asked gently.

"I—" Michael sighed and told him everything, crying again by the time he was finished. He knew he should not have, but it felt nice to get it off his chest, to finally tell someone and to have them listen.

Crowley was silent for a long moment. "Come inside," he said, standing to helping Michael to do the same. He led the younger man back down the hall to the bedroom, and Michael was too weary to resist. "Lay down," said the other man softly. "You need to sleep."

Michael was already doing just that, curling up on one edge of the bed and trying to take up as little room as possible. Crowley, after changing into a set of silk pyjamas, laid down on the other side and extinguished the lamp on the nightstand.

Michael's back was to Crowley, so he knew the other man could not see the tears running down his cheeks once more. He swallowed his sobs, but his intake of breath was weak and shaky. The mattress creaked, and Crowley's hand was on his shoulder once more. Only dimly aware, Michael rolled over, the action allowing Crowley to put both arms around him. Laying his head on the other's shoulder again, Michael cried until he fell asleep.

He awoke the next morning still pressed up against Crowley, one of the man's arms around his shoulders and the other draped lightly around his waist. It took him a few seconds to realize where he was and another to register the ringing of his phone, which had woken him. He slipped out of Crowley's embrace and rolled over to get it off the nightstand. "Hello?"

"Michael!" It was Lucifer, and he sounded relieved. "Come home."

"You know I cannot," said Michael, keeping his voice down for Crowley's benefit.

"Mikey, please. You can. When we moved into this place, we rented it in your name, remember? It's your house, not dad's. I made him leave." Lucifer spoke quickly, desperately.

"You _what?_ "

"Come home," Lucifer repeated. "Raph and Gabe aren't mad. I talked to them and they understand. I even…I even found a job. There might be another opening. Please, come home."

"Lucifer…"

"Raph's turning in an application at the library today." Lucifer seemed to not even register Michael speaking. "And Gabe wants to walk people's dogs for money. We can all pitch in; we can make this work."

"Lucifer," Michael said calmingly, sliding out of the bed. "I'm coming. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Lucifer sighed in relief. "Thank God. I'll see you soon."

Michael hung up, looking thoughtfully down at Crowley, who was still sleeping. He did not think the man would want him hanging around any longer than necessary. As it was, he had let a whore into bed for something other than business. "Thank you," Michael said softly, "for everything." He left quietly, detailing what had happened the best he could in the one hundred seventy characters of a single text, typed out on his phone.

It took everything in Michael to keep his composure as he once again stood facing the home he thought was lost to him forever. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside.


	6. Chapter 6

The door had barely closed behind Michael before he was being shoved backwards into it, victim to a full-force running hug from Gabriel. "I'm sorry!" the boy sobbed. "I'm not mad at you. I wasn't ever mad at you, I was just scared."

"Me too…" Michael agreed, picking Gabriel up and resting him against his hip. His younger brother wrapped his arms around his neck as he carried him to the living room, where Lucifer and Raphael were sitting.

Lucifer stood immediately, approaching Michael, who wrapped his free arm around his brother's shoulders. "Thank you," he whispered as Lucifer hugged him back.

Once Lucifer had stepped back and Gabriel had clambered down, Raphael approached, his usually calm demeanour replaced by an unreadable expression. He put a hand on Michael's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I was hurtful, and had no right to be. You were only trying to protect us."

Raphael was the least emotive member of the family, so a declaration such as this, along with physical contact, was momentous. "Thank you, Raphael," Michael said with affection, though he respected his brother's aversion to touching and did not hug him as he had the other two.

"Sit down," said Lucifer. "We have a lot to talk about."

In the end, Michael arranged to apply for a job when he went in with Lucifer on his next shift, which was in two days. If that prospect did not work out, Raphael had found an office that helped the unemployed get back on their feet. Gabriel offered to get Michael in on his business in the meantime. "You can wash their cars or mow their lawns or something while I walk the dogs!" he exclaimed, clearly excited.

Michael was extremely grateful to his brothers, and the four of them spent the afternoon cleaning up the house, which had been neglected during Chuck's brief stay. At around four o' clock, Michael got a text. He supposed he would have to change his number and take all his ads down, but that would come in time.

The message was simply an address and a time, and the number was one Michael had long since memorized. The address was unfamiliar, however, and he frowned at the phone. He was going to ignore it when a second message came through: 'Please? –C'

Michael sat down, sighing. He knew Crowley had gotten the text he had sent earlier, so why was he still being asked to work? He found it especially odd after all that had happened the previous night. Before he could reconsider, he typed out a confirmation, intending to meet up with the older man and politely tell him he was no longer in the business. It was more than he was planning on doing for any of his other clients, perhaps because of the kindness Crowley had shown him. Quitting his line of work had been the one thing his brothers had made him promise, and he had more than readily agreed.

It was only after his reply that Michael realized how early the requested time was—a mere two hours from that moment. He got changed, though only for appearances' sake; the clothes he was wearing, which still smelled like laundry detergent, were probably cleaner than anything in his dresser.

Even though he had just over an hour before he had to leave, Michael did not accomplish many more chores around the house. He was too confused. Why would Crowley still have contacted him for an appointment? He had seemed genuinely concerned about Michael's plight the night prior. Perhaps he figured Michael owed him for the kindness? But no, he had never seemed that insensitive.

Before Michael left, he told Lucifer exactly where he was going and what his intent was. Lucifer got defensive and asked to accompany him, but Michael assured him he was perfectly capable of handling the situation. Reluctantly, Lucifer relented, but only because Michael was "an adult. And you've learned your lesson."

When Michael reached the address, he had to check his phone again to make sure he had not misread. The building he stood outside was not a residence, but a brightly lit restaurant. It matched the address in his phone: he supposed Crowley had mistyped it. Not particularly relishing the meeting anyways, Michael decided not to inquire about it. He was turning to leave when a woman outside the door hailed him. She was wearing the uniform of a waitress of the establishment.

"Are you Michael?" she asked.

"Um…yes." Michael's danger sense had skyrocketed. Maybe there was a place of business upstairs? Or through the back?

"Come in," she said. "Mr. MacLeod told us to expect you."

"He did?" He imagined that could only be Crowley. What sort of place _was_ this?

Michael must have looked dazed, because the waitress laughed. "His exact words were, 'A celestial dark-haired youth who will probably stand out here confused for a moment before trying to leave.'" She looked proud of herself for remembering all of that.

There were a million things Michael wanted to ask, but all that came out of his mouth was: "Celestial?"

She laughed again. "His words. Now come on, my break's ending." She turned to lead him inside and brought him to a booth in the back corner. Sure enough, Crowley was sitting on one side. He had been looking out the window, but turned to look at them as they approached.

"Thank you, dear," he said to the waitress, then grinned at Michael and added in a much warmer tone: "Have a seat, love."

The waitress smiled and bounced off to the kitchen as Michael slid in opposite Crowley. He looked around warily, as if something was going to spring out at him. He had no idea what the older man had planned, but he wanted to stop him before he got too far. "What is this?"

"Looks like a restaurant to me," Crowley remarked.

" _Crowley_."

The other man's grin dropped and he looked almost grave. "It's just dinner, Michael."

Michael's confusion outweighed his relief. " _Just_ dinner?" he had to ask.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Crowley did not seem to want to answer that, and was spared doing so by a waiter coming by to ask what they wanted to drink. "Sorry I was so cryptic about it," he said afterwards.

"Why did you think that was necessary?" Michael was not fully at ease yet, and he was determined to get some answers.

"You might not have come otherwise," Crowley said almost contritely, which was something Michael had never thought he would hear. "I know you don't like it when people give you things."

Michael wondered briefly when Crowley had started to know him well, but he had no words to express that. "I almost did not," he admitted.

"I know."

The silence stretched, Crowley looking down at his hands and Michael's gaze wandering to the window. A falling star streaked across the sky and he gasped like a child. "Did you see that?"

"What?"

Michael shook his head, feeling stupid. "Nothing. Just a meteor." The stars had always fascinated Michael, especially shooting stars. When they were younger, Lucifer used to call him a 'space freak.' Apparently the term made sense to his brother.

"No, I missed it," said Crowley, actually sounding apologetic. "Sorry."

"It was not important anyways," said Michael glumly.

"You seemed to think it was," Crowley retorted, but there was no vehemence in his voice.

Michael shrugged and a silence fell once more. After their drinks had been served and they had ordered, he spoke. "Perhaps it was. Perhaps I was hoping it was an unprecedented meteor shower. Perhaps I have always wanted to see one." Michael had never expressed that aloud to anyone, though Lucifer probably could have guessed.

Crowley smiled softly. "Oh, really?"

"Perhaps." Michael shrugged again. "As I said, unimportant."

"You're not."

Michael just looked out the window again. "So what do you do?" he changed the subject.

"For fun or for a living?" Crowley asked, and Michael was glad he had not pursued the conversation.

"Either."

"I'm a travel agent," Crowley informed him. "But I'm also collecting royalties from a botany business founded by my mother." He did not look pleased at the mention of her.

"I see." That explained the wealth. The food arrived after a few more minutes, and it was the best Michael had ever tasted; they even had dessert.

"Thank you," said Michael as they waited for the bill. He had this warm feeling inside him that he thought might have been happiness.

"Of course," said Crowley, but he seemed distracted. "Michael—" he began, then immediately looking like he wished he hadn't.

"Yes?"

"Will we…see each other again?" Crowley appeared nervous, fidgeting with the tablecloth, though he was trying to maintain eye contact. It was odd to see on someone usually so confident, and the bad feeling came back to Michael again.

He considered. "Yes, I believe so," he answered cautiously. "We are friends, after all." He was uncertain of this fact, but he would have had no idea how else to define their relationship. He glanced up at Crowley, who swiftly hid his disappointment. "Unless you have something else in mind?" he challenged sharply, automatically on the defensive.

"I was…hoping for something more personal." Crowley smiled at him sadly. "But we can be whatever you want."

Michael nodded, but a flash of anger burst inside him. "I am not going to be your personal whore," he spat impulsively.

Crowley winced. "I was thinking you might be my boyfriend, actually."

Michael deadpanned, his stomach hitching. "What."

Crowley shook his head and accepted the bill from the waiter. "Never mind." He stood after tucking some cash inside. "You want a ride home?"

"No, wait." Michael stood between Crowley and the way out, stopping the older man in his tracks. His head was spinning, but he knew he did not want the conversation to end. "What did you—? Do you…" He frowned, not even sure what he was trying to ask.

"I meant it," Crowley confirmed. "But I suppose I might be a little overambitious." His tone was one of defeated bitterness and he turned sideways to get past Michael, obviously trying to conceal the fact that he was hurt. Michael stared after him, mouth agape and heart racing. Only when the door shut behind him did Michael come back to himself with a start. He walked out to the parking lot, hoping he was not too late.

He spied Crowley by a black Lamborghini and called out his name, speeding up his pace. Crowley turned, a resigned look on his face.

"Why?" asked Michael as he approached. "Why would you want to date me?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Because I like you, idiot."

"You took me by surprise," Michael tried to explain. He sounded lame to his own ears, but it had not been an unpleasant surprise.

"Clearly."

Michael looked at his feet. He had probably missed his chance—the best chance he had ever had—and now felt both stupid and guilty.

"Do you want a ride home?" Crowley repeated his earlier question, this time in softer tones.

"Maybe…" said Michael, taking the tiniest step closer, "you could give me a ride to your house?"

Crowley regarded him dubiously, and Michael realized how he must have sounded.

"I like you too," he said softly, stepping forward the extra few inches to wrap his arms around Crowley's neck and kiss him softly. The other man seemed stunned at first, but before long his arms settled around Michael's waist, his lips yielding to the pressure of the kiss.

"Michael," Crowley said quietly, pulling away. The word was inflected with deep meaning, and Crowley looked at Michael as if he was afraid of breaking him.

Michael rested a finger lightly against Crowley's lips so he could speak. "It's different because I like you."

"It's no different unless it means something to you," Crowley argued quietly.

"It does," Michael assured him. He kissed him again, but did not linger this time. He slid out of Crowley's arms and walked around to sit in the passenger seat, nodding when the other got in beside him. He told him his address, and then added: "It's up to you where you take me."

"Michael—" Crowley tried to begin again.

"We can just talk," Michael interrupted, "if you want." He was determined not to lose the other man after the way he had reacted.

Crowley, apparently given up on trying to speak, started the car and pulled onto the road. He was silent until they reached his house, where he turned off the car but remained inside, trying to fathom what to say.

Michael took the initiative, getting out and walking to the house. He knew Crowley would follow him, and he turned to look at him once they were inside.

"You shouldn't feel like you have to—"

"This is no obligation on either of us—"

They spoke at the same time, and they stopped speaking at the same time. Michael took Crowley by the hand and led him down the hall, closing the bedroom door softly behind them. He led him over to the bed and sat down, drawing the other down with him and then leaning over to kiss him once more.

"So much for just talking," Crowley murmured against Michael's lips.

The younger man pulled away. "We can if you want," he said, "but I like kissing you." He paused, noting that Crowley seemed less apprehensive. "I like feeling your arms around me. I like lying beside you, and I like feeling you inside me. And…" He trailed off, suddenly nervous, before whispering: "And I've never made love."

Crowley smiled softly, his hand coming up to rest against Michael's cheek before drawing him over to kiss. This time, their lips fit together perfectly, and Michael's eyes fluttered closed dreamily. Crowley's other hand came down to rest on Michael's hip, and it was the kind of touch that prompted both warmth and shivers. His lips were softer than Michael remembered, yet there was an energy coming off of him that had not been present before—a warm, steadily growing buzz. Michael's palms rested lightly against his chest, and he could feel Crowley's heart racing.

The kiss deepened a little as Crowley drew Michael closer; the younger man tilted his head more and felt the gentle brush of eyelashes along the top of his cheekbone. He did not resist as Crowley laid him down, leaning on one elbow to hover over him gently. Their lips parted mere millimetres, and Michael's eyes fluttered open with a silent gasp to see the other looking down at him tenderly. He gave a slight smile, distracted by the way the dim light accented the gold in Crowley's green eyes. "You are beautiful," he murmured, only now realizing it himself.

Three things passed through Crowley's eyes at once—shock, joy, and affection—before he was kissing Michael again, his fingertips running lazily up and down the other's sides. His every touch tingled just long enough to be on the brink of fading before his fingertips renewed it. Michael's air left him with the tension that seeped out of his body and he reached up to pass his hands along Crowley's shoulders, under the suit jacket.

A single, low humming note left the back of Crowley's throat as he sat up to shrug the jacket odd, tossing it to the ground with his socks. Michael gently caught hold of his tie and pulled him back down, the other hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. He felt Crowley's hand run down the centre of his chest before it slipped up under the hem of his shirt. He raised his arms and smiled shyly when the kiss was broken to remove the garment. As the other's hands ran back down his torso, they passed over every hard-lined muscle: Michael got the impression that Crowley was not just touching him, but _feeling_ him, learning the shape of his body.

Michael locked eyes with Crowley, undoing his tie. As he slipped it off over the back of his neck, Crowley dipped his head to plant a feather-light kiss at the corner of his mouth. The gesture brought another smile to Michael's lips, his hands continuing to move steadily to undo the other's shirt. Warmly cupping his sides of Crowley's neck, Michael brought him down bare-chested to press against him. He continued the same motion fluidly to kiss the other man again, nipping at his bottom lip.

Crowley's mouth opened under Michael's gentle urging, and when their tongues collided Michael was once again reminded of the heady sweetness that was so unique to Crowley. He became so lost in the kiss that he was forced to pull away breathlessly, panting lightly near the hollow of the other's shoulder. He turned to kiss sweetly just beneath Crowley's jaw and down, leaving a train in barely perceptible intervals.

He felt Crowley sag against him. "Michael…" he exhaled shakily, and the addressed nearly fell apart. Never before had Michael heard his name spoken like that, so raw and vulnerable. He pulled away from his activities to look up at the other man once more.

Crowley's skin was flushed, the lamplight making him glow with a golden sheen. He leaned down to run a line of kisses down Michael's neck, from just under the ear to the smooth curve of his shoulder. Michael's fingertips skipped down Crowley's back and came around his hips, resting on the cool metal of his belt buckle. The leather slithered through his fingers as he undid it and he started to work his own as Crowley gripped the sides of his ribs warmly. His hands glided down Michael's body, pausing only momentarily to undo his jeans before sliding them down. His nails sent tingles up Michael's inner thighs as his fingers alighted on his waist once more; the younger man kicked his socks and jeans off the rest of the way.

The electrifying pressure of skin on skin was relieved for a moment as Crowley sat up to get his trousers off. When he settled back down, his legs were between Michael's.

With Crowley's weight nestled comfortably on top of him, Michael revived the kiss once more. He could clearly feel the hard warmth of the other's groin against his own, the two layers of cotton a meagre barrier. The sensation opened up a bubble of warmth within Michael's chest, swelling with joy and gentleness and tender affection until it seemed likely to burst from him and engulf them both.

"Crowley~" Michael sighed, his hands dancing restless from the other's back to his shoulders to his arms. They eventually came to rest on his hips, inching the waistband of his pants down. Crowley did the deed for him, baring himself as his lips sought out Michael's again. He slipped Michael's briefs down slowly, gracing the muscles of his legs with the same attention he had given his torso.

Despite his nudity, Michael was warm all over. His tongue glided over Crowley's lower lip as he brought his legs up to wrap around the other's waist.

One of Crowley's hands was tracing flowing patterns on the back of Michael's thigh; he brought it around to hover around Michael's entrance, but the younger man shook his head.

"Just…love me…" His words barely stirred the air. The hand was removed, coming to rest on the centre of his chest, just over his heart. Crowley entered him slowly, giving him time to adjust. Michael's legs tightened around his waist as a shuddering moan left him.

"I've got you, love," Crowley murmured, pressing a comforting kiss to the side of Michael's neck. His left hand gripped Michael's hip only a little harder, to keep him in place as he started to thrust. The friction was at first unpleasant, but Crowley's gentle touches and steady pace eased Michael into the feeling. He reached up to wrap his arms around the other, holding him so close he could have drawn them into one person.

Crowley's hand left Michael's chest to cup the back of his head, tenderly supporting him. Michael buried his face in Crowley's shoulder, the spice of cologne barely present beneath the man's personal scent clouding his senses. He grabbed the back of Crowley's neck with one hand the fingers of the other splayed wise across his back.

Michael was breathing heavily, letting the ends of his exhales break off as his every nerve came alive. Crowley's lips brushed his shoulder, and his left hand trailed over to take Michael in hand, pacing his strokes to his thrusts. Michael turned his head to try to kiss him again, but they were both too breathless to stay liplocked long.

"Michael…" Crowley hummed, causing the younger man to clench momentarily as the intimate tone washed over him. He embraced Crowley tighter and angled his hips up, allowing the other to change his angle. There was a warmth spreading through Michael's core, and he knew he was close. Crowley's breath was hot against his neck: he sounded just as undone as Michael did.

Michael inhaled sharply, a hitching sound escaping his throat before turning to a moan of his lover's name. Crowley's own groan of pleasure eclipsed the last half of Michael's as the two finished together. In the waning of their climaxes, Crowley leaned up to look Michael in the eye, and Michael could see his own face reflected back at him in the man's dilated pupils. He kissed him gently as he lowered his legs back to the bed, feeling Crowley ease out of him. The older man let his head hang, his forehead resting against Michael's collarbone as he caught his breath. Unconsciously, Michael began running his fingers through Crowley's hair, his other am still draped loosely over his back.

Crowley lifted his head, rolling tiredly off of Michael. His chest rose and fell in deep breaths, and the hand that had been under Michael's head moved to wrap around his shoulders.

After a moment, Michael rolled over as well. One of his legs rested between Crowley's, and his head was pillowed in the soft hollow beneath a collarbone. His fingers ghosted idly over Crowley's other shoulder as his eyes drifted shut and opened again sluggishly.

"Crowley," he mumbled, his voice thicker than he had anticipated. He had forgotten what he wanted to say.

Crowley's only response was to gently kiss his temple. "Go to sleep," he said softly, mumbling something that sounded like, 'my angel' afterwards.

Michael yawned and nestled more comfortably into Crowley. He peered blearily at the lamp and watched as its light—tinged red though the lids of his half-closed eyes—winked out, letting him fall into a slumber that was the safest he had felt in a very long time.

End.


End file.
